Reality Check
by Miss Murderess
Summary: I didn’t want to die, and now when I can finally understand that, it’s too late. Who knew that my most ridiculous suicide attempt would be the one to give me something to live for? RenoxElena Rated for drugs, alcohol, mention of suicide and violence.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**This is my first Reno story and for right now it will be pretty OOC until the drama subsides a bit so stay with me. This is the prologue; Reminisce.**

* * *

Someone better could have laughed at me, I must look comical now. My whole life I'd spent planning, scheming, in search for the best way to do this. I've tried before, many times to no avail. It always felt half hearted and I guessed that maybe the truth all along; _I didn't want to die, a_nd now when I can finally understand that, it's too late. Maybe somewhere in my disgusting mind I thought somehow I deserved to live. Hah! What a thought. I deserved to live just as much as the next serial killer – that's what I was now anyway. You know what's sad? When your means of suicide becomes the only reason you're alive.

When I was young I became a junkie – anything to ease the pain I told myself – just to test my luck. I figured either I would die or be blissfully unable to think let alone deal with myself, and at that point I only both my parents deaths on my plate. My father was a drunk, then a mechanic, a husband, a friend, and maybe if he still had time or energy –though I'd never count on it – a father. My mother tried so hard to make up for things but she could never quite manage to see a reason to keep struggling. When she killed herself and left her body hanging for me my heart hung right with her. I cried that night until the time my father stumbled through the door and laughed, he actually _laughed!_ I saw red, then black and then I never saw either of them again. I was taken into an orphanage after that, doctors came and went each without success in cracking my thoughts. Later I learned that I killed my father, slit his throat – serves the bastard right! Even though he had it coming my hands would still shake as I'd considered myself a monster from that point on. I was thirteen when I had my first hit, it so deliciously numbed the pain that I couldn't keep myself sober, every hit became stronger and I stopped fighting to keep myself alive.

The first time I tried to kill myself I looked to pills, I had enough experience to know my limits and that day I pushed them four times over. When I woke up in the hospital I couldn't bring myself to talk, I could only laugh. I was hysterical, confused and unable to make a move to either end or further my life. When I was released my life continued, in only one sense of the word; I aged but nothing more really. From then on I tried countless times with drugs, drinking, needless fighting, I once jumped off the top of a building – I broke a lot of bones but I survived. I slit my wrists, again to no prevail. I was on my way to the regular spot for my weekly fix when I overheard some thugs down an alley talking, a colleague had joined some organization called the Turks, and the rumour was that very few people survived their first year – most didn't make it out of training. That conversation stuck with me, who knew that my most ridiculous suicide attempt would be the one to give me something to live for.

Originally, when I had survived the year I was disappointed, frustrated even but I soon came upon a friendship that began to push life higher on my priority list. Somehow I excelled as a Turk, I surpassed even my own expectations and slowly I began to be okay with the days even when the drugs were never enough.

Now here I lay, heart pounding, blood spurting, my vision fading and my life ebbing away. I never thought it'd be this way, I never thought I'd scream to be saved. My throat tearing with each breath, each plea fruitless; my voice lost in pain. My skin pierced by bullets, shredded almost gauging from the pain.

It started off as a normal mission, infiltrate, obtain information, and eliminate any threats. Of course I'm sure none of this would have happened if my reaction time hadn't been slowed by the drugs. Normally even under the influence I was at the top of my game but today I took more than normal. A nightmare left my mind raw and I found solace in the drugs but today I took it too far, apparently.

"Fuck…" I cried tasting the blood pass my lips, my throat bubbling in its thickness. Stars flickered in the darkness of my closed eyes.

"R-Rude…Elena," I gasped, my head spinning and my body falling. My mind became dislocated and the feeling of my body subsided all but the feeling of hot tears rolling down my cheeks – the first in years. Distantly I felt my crumpled body shift and the hard ground disappeared beneath me.

"Reno! Hang in there partner." Rude's anxious voice drifted through my mind.

"P-please…." I cried as the darkness began to swallow me, "I'm… s-sorry…. I don't want this anymore…"

I could barely feel his arms as he lifted me with sturdy arms from my pitiful heap. My muscles refused to budge, my lungs unable to draw breath and I couldn't hold on any longer.

* * *

**Let me know what you think. I will not post more chapters if they are not going to be read.**


End file.
